Epilogophilia: Duet for Two Wind Instruments
by L.M.Lewis
Summary: It's a discussion about right and wrong . . . sort of.


Disclaimer: These are not my characters and I make no profit from them.

**Author's notes: **Star for BK 'zine number four contained epilogues for the second half of season three. This was the first.

**Epilogophilia—Duet for Two Wind Instruments**

_Randy Hopke, a man convicted in Hardcastle's court on charges of battering his girlfriend, is being released from San Quentin. The Appeals Court has ruled that his attorney was incompetent due to senility._

_McCormick, already miffed when the judge is the focus of a TV interviewer while he is left to serve tea, insists that Randy wasn't guilty. The argument turns into a challenge with both men going off to tackle the facts of the case again. _

_Both encounter difficulties. Hopke's girlfriend, Val, won't cooperate with the judge's investigation, while Randy slugs McCormick and tells him to leave things alone._

_Mark temporarily backs down, but the judge remains adamant that he was right about Hopke all along and McCormick comes back for another round. This time they both go after Hopke's work records, McCormick to prove an alibi, Hardcastle looking for dirt. _

_The plot thickens, with a possible alibi for Hopke pointing to him being a suspect in a murder and diamond robbery. Mark and the judge realize they've both been had, and that Val was in on the scam, allowing Hopke to beat her severely, and misleading the authorities about the time, in order to get Randy off the hook for the murder charge._

_In the end, they join forces—the Lone Ranger says he doesn't like riding alone. Mark pulls a scam to get Val to seek out Randy and they are caught (in a chase involving buses) trying to escape with the stolen diamonds._

**Epilogue—**by L. M. Lewis

"He did _what_?"

The question, obviously simple rhetorical indignation, had fallen into one of those odd lulls in a roomful of conversations, and at the precise moment when the Bing Crosby Christmas album had finished and the Frank Sinatra one had not yet dropped onto the turntable.

But everything started up again, with no more than an odd look or two from a couple people, before the judge could hear exactly what Frank's reply had been to McCormick. The two of them were standing nearly across the room from Hardcastle, over by the mantle. Mark had been fetching and carrying drinks for folks, and had only stopped a few moments earlier to talk to Harper.

But by the looks he was now getting from the kid, he had a notion as to what the offense might have been—if you could call it that. He'd been entirely within his rights, legally, no question about it. Lots of precedent. California v. Stauton, for a start.

And it had been a whole week since they'd put all that nonsense behind them and joined forces to nail Randy Hopke and his girlfriend, Val. _And what'd he think? I just got lucky and found him up on that road to the diamond exchange? He musta figured I had a little help from Frank on this one._

He decided he'd probably been imagining things. McCormick's slightly dyspeptic look and his briefly raised voice might have been about anything at all. And he thought no more about it for what was left of the already late evening.

It wasn't until he was saying 'good-byes' at the door, that he realized McCormick hadn't been in the den much after that. Might've been off with Barb Johnson, might even have taken her down to see the Coyote. Then, looking out the front, he realized Barb's car was gone, along with many of the rest. Claudia was already out on the porch, halfway down the stairs.

Frank, settling his overcoat with a shrug of his shoulders, leaned back in toward him and said, "Sorry about that. I didn't know he didn't know."

One more shrug and he was gone, before Hardcastle could even ask what he was apologizing for. Not that he really had to ask.

He stood there in the doorway a moment longer. The last of the cars were pulling away. The house was silent behind him. He walked through, just to be certain, all the way back to the kitchen, where he could see that a start had been made on putting the leftovers away and stacking the dishes to be rinsed.

McCormick was no longer there. The judge stepped over to the window that overlooked the yard. The pool lights were off, and he saw the man, hands in his pockets, looking out slightly to the east at the full moon.

_Let him be. He'll forget about it by morning._

Then he headed out the back door, and down the steps. No movement or signs of acknowledgement from the other man. He walked over, not being very stealthy about it, and when he was within a few feet he cleared his throat rustily and said, "Kinda cold to be standing around out here."

McCormick didn't startle, just looked over his shoulder. "Nah," he shrugged. "It was getting a little stuffy in there. Thought I'd get some fresh air before I started cleaning up." There was a hint of a frown, and then he was turned away again before he said, "Frank's gone?"

"Yeah, coupla minutes ago."

"Shoulda said good-bye to him and Claudia. She brought an extra batch of those fig cookies; I put 'em in the freezer." It was all very matter-of-fact and it took a keen ear to tell it was just slightly off.

Hardcastle made some vague sounds of agreement as he stepped up alongside the other man. He hadn't been given much of a handle to work with. He finally decided to come right out with it.

"I had a right to ask Frank for that APB."

The moment he'd gotten it out, he knew it had been a tactical mistake, but it was McCormick's response that came as a surprise. Mark turned his head slightly to the side. It was more a look of disappointment than anger. The reply was an equally mild, "I know that."

Despite the agreement, he felt as though he was in the awkward position of having to explain himself. He frowned. He really wasn't entirely sure what the explanation was.

"I didn't trust Hopke," he muttered, and then, a little louder, "and you doing that crazy stunt and then tearing out of there like a bat out of hell—how was I supposed to know what fool thing you were gonna try next?"

There was a glimmer of a smile. A transient thing, followed by a calm and slightly too-patient, "Uh-huh. You were worried about my safety."

"And I was right, too. He came after you."

"Uh-huh," mark said again and added, still very placidly, "but I still think I could've out-driven him if it had been a two-car race." The smile was back now, small, but steady.

Hardcastle looked doubtful. "You aren't mad at me, then, about asking Frank for the APB?"

Mark shrugged, hands still in his pockets. "Dunno, guess I was. I know you've got a right to do it." He was frowning, "I suppose I didn't think you would. But it's okay."

"'Okay'?" The judge raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah." Another, longer shrug. "I know you didn't do it because you wanted to bust me."

"'Course not."

"Though maybe you _did_ wanna bust me, just for a minute or two when we were in that parking lot," Mark grinned, "but you were mad, and frustrated, and there was a phone, and you had a dime. Anybody woulda—"

"It was cheating," Hardcastle interrupted flatly.

"No it wasn't. Like you said, you have the right."

"Yeah, for good reasons, not for that."

"Well, you were worried about me," Mark said quietly.

"I was worried about you beating me to the punch—getting ahead of me on the case."

"And it would've been dangerous if I had; look at what Hopke was willing to do. So, don't sweat it too much. I'm not." Mark appeared to be giving the moon one last study. Then he turned back toward the house. "It's kinda late; mind if I put off the clean-up till morning?"

Hardcastle was still standing there, slightly taken aback. He pivoted and followed the younger man up to the house. "Hey," he said, "when'd you get to be so philosophical?"

Mark glanced over his shoulder again, smiling. "Is that what it is? Are you sure it's not just resignation? 'Change what ya can, don't try to change what ya can't, and be smart enough to know the difference'?"

Hardcastle stopped in his tracks, thinking about that for a moment, then hustled to catch up. "That's not resignation, it's 'Serenity'". It's the thing the AA guys use."

"Well," Mark slowed, and stopped, and turned, "whatever you want to call it, it works for me. And I kinda think we're both better at figuring out for ourselves when we're wrong, rather than being told." He paused a moment and then added, "At least I am."

Then, still smiling, he turned away again, and strolled up the drive, around the corner of the house, and out of sight.


End file.
